


It's Not A Birdbath (it's a jacuzzi, dammit)

by AngeNoir



Category: Avengers Academy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Assumptions, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, High School Drama, M/M, Miscommunication, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Relationship, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8893699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: Steve wasn't... exactly in the best place when he woke up and found himself a) in the future, b) without any of his friends, and c) with a mission immediately placed in front of him, with no respite ahead. Then Tony tries talking to him, and Steve didn't want to hear it. Then Steve started listening, and started wanting to hear more.Steve doesn't realize how much he'd come to rely on it until it was no longer there. Then he's got to figure out what the hell went wrong, and how to fix it.At least Bucky can help. (He hopes.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SarkaS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarkaS/gifts).



When Steve Rogers came to the Academy, his wings had been dull and faded. They had once been a gleaming dovetail grey, with deep red wingbars stretched over his feathers. Even as a sickly, young man, before the super serum, his wings had been vibrant and huge – rather unwieldy, even.

Waking up in a time not his own, his wings had seemed… drained. The grey had looked more washed out than anything, even grimy, no matter how many times he had groomed, and his red had been so dark it looked like dried blood.

He had hated it.

Even his soulmark had faded to a dull, muddy color. Bucky’s mark had once been a vibrantly blue diamond, its points studded with tiny red stars, but now it was barely present.

Now, he could admit it – he moped around the campus for a good long while. Dancing familiar dances (that he never could before, not when he was sick and tiny), studying how to use technology, and just wandering aimlessly (yes, skipping classes – did they really expect him to just, what, become a model student?) about the campus – that was pretty much all he did.

Then he met Tony.

***

Well, that implied that he hadn’t known or met Tony before. He had, in his very first day at the Academy. Fury had made sure to introduce them, and Tony had rambled on in an uncoordinated fashion, and Steve had tried to follow it for all of thirty seconds before he realized Pepper and Fury weren’t even bothering to listen, and so he took the time to look Tony over.

Tony was slightly taller than him (though Steve suspected it had to do with the rocket boots Tony always wore, and his hair was scruffy, sticking up in an oddly endearing way. He was in a partially-assembled robotic suit, slightly manic in his movements, and his eyes were so soft and brown.

Tony’s wings, though, were absolutely stunning. They were a beautiful golden color, rich and honey-dark, the tips dipped in bronze. His marginal coverts were shielded by crimson armor plates that attached to his intricately detailed gorget.

Tony Stark was bright and flashy and Steve didn’t know what to do with him. He didn’t really know what to do with any of this bright future, that shoved him into a war almost immediately.

But after he moped around for the first few weeks – yes, even winning an election (and yes, Tony, he _did_ win even if no one ran against him, because people had _voted_ for him and the democratic process was _sacred_ ) hadn’t cheered him up – Tony had sidled up to him one day at the cafeteria.

“Have you had a chance to really get up in the air? Get some air on those oversized feather dusters of yours?”

At the time, Steve had thought Tony was making fun of him. He’d glowered and snapped and rolled his eyes, and Tony – with that always present smile and easy grin – stood up and left the table.

It had galled him to realize that Tony was right. Since he’d been back, he hadn’t really had a good wheel through the sky. He used to love the space and emptiness of the sky, the fresh air blowing over his wings and moving through his hair. He and Bucky could coast on the updrafts off the water for hours.

That night, he had gone up to the top of the Avengers dorm, ignoring the heavy punching bag (that could stand up to his punches – Tony certainly made strong, durable material), and spread his wings. Three heavy flaps, and he dropped off the edge of the building, caught a gust of air, and _lifted_.

Later, he realized Tony must’ve seen him – the dorm _was_ right next to Tony’s tower, after all – but Tony never said anything. And as Steve got into the habit of taking these midnight and early, _early_ morning flights, he began to notice that Tony would fly at the same time, too. Their paths never intersected, not really, but they could see one another, passed by one another. It happened often enough to drag Steve out of his mood, make him curious – because when Tony flew, he did it… differently.

Tony never flew without the boots and his hand stabilizer. Oh, his wings were spread, and they were magnificent in the softer lighting of the night lamps that lined the Avengers Academy compound, and Tony would flap and dip his wings and everything else, but Tony clearly was using his machines to aid his flight.

The puzzle of it bothered Steve a bit, made him think it over. The next time Tony came to sit beside Steve, Steve didn’t roll his eyes. He didn’t quite welcome Tony – but he didn’t chase him off. And that was apparently the only thing Tony was waiting for, because ever since then, anytime Tony was around and saw Steve, he’d head on over, make casual talk about anything and everything under the sun, and generally just keep Steve company.

***

“Doesn’t it get tiring, man?” Sam asked one day while they were running a recon mission on the Hydra school across town. “I can barely have him explain my upgrades to me, and I need that in order to be a hero. He just goes on and on and _on_ about nothing at all to you. I’ve seen you guys in the cafeteria. He barely stops to take a breath, and sometimes, sometimes you look okay, but sometimes you look annoyed. You ever want someone to come and, I dunno, rescue you? Take you to a quieter corner of the cafeteria?”

The Quinjet was spacious, large, with a small room specifically to allow people to groom their wings back into shape, and Sam was strapped in the pilot’s seat, Steve into the co-pilot’s seat. Sam’s wings were augmented by some mechanics that created – well, the best Steve could think of as an analogy was porcupine quills: sharp, almost knife-like pieces of steel carefully overlaid Sam’s brown and black speckled wings without risking cutting or slicing any of Sam’s feathers. Sam was a trick flier; someone sharp and quick, swift at taking corners, and Steve wondered what it would be like to fly tandem with him. Not that he thought of Sam in a romantic way at all, but whoever Sam partnered with… they’d have a challenge to keep up with the plucky and powerful flier.

Tony, however, Tony was a glider, a powerful flier with stamina and a wingspan to handle long distances.

“Not really,” Steve said, and maybe it was because his voice was too soft, or maybe because he was absently thinking about tandem flights in general, except Tony’s face popped into his head, or maybe because Steve was just that transparent, but Sam’s mouth split into a knowing grin and he nodded.

“Bet you anything Tony tries to show off his birdbath to you.”

The words struck Steve as odd, and he tilted his head at Sam.

“Not that he calls it a birdbath, of course. His ‘hot tub.’ We all know he just likes splashing around in the water like a duck.” Sam winked. “It’s pretty sweet, too – he’s already invited myself and Rhodes and Loki up. I’m sure he’ll give you a chance too.”

Steve cleared his throat and changed the subject.

Still, by the time Steve had landed the Quinjet, he’d made up his mind to initiate _something_ with Tony, since Tony had been the only initiator so far. That, however, was a bit difficult when he realized he couldn’t _find_ Tony in any of his usual spots – he wasn’t dancing, or drinking those godawful energy drinks they served at Club A, or talking to JARVIS at the Tower. That was where Steve stopped looking, actually, and just sat down on the couches outside the dorm, waiting for Tony to return from wherever he was. Finally, Tony came up, a bit singed and grimy. Probably had been at the forge – Steve forgot Tony regularly hammered out the pieces of his armor himself, and made swords for _Taskmaster_.

(Steve _hated_ Taskmaster.)

When Tony saw Steve, his eyes lit up. “Hey, Steve! I didn’t realize you and Sam came back!”

“Yeah, not to long ago,” Steve lied easily – he’d been waiting a good half an hour at the Tower, and that didn’t count him walking over this half of the campus looking at Tony’s usual spots – and he grinned at Tony. “I wondered if you’d gone to the cafeteria yet or not. Missions with Sam always work up an appetite.”

Tony seemed to hesitate a little, and for some reason his eyes flickered towards Steve’s wings before refocusing his gaze on Steve’s eyes. His smile became a bit stilted, a bit strained, but his voice was cheery enough when he said, “Sam’s feathers have become quite a bit lustier, I’ve noticed, and he’s an excellent flier.”

The words – well, Tony’s sentence _made_ sense, but he had no idea what they meant in the context of their current conversation. So Steve hesitantly said, “Yes? He’s a very good flier.”

Tony sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, he is.”

They went to the cafeteria, but something was… off. Oh, Tony chattered a mile a minute, like normal, and the topics were wide and varying like always, and it put Steve at ease like always, but there was… it was missing the warmth, the closeness, it had once had. Tony, when he had done these talks and casual, one-sided discussions with Steve, had always been… well, _clingy_ was the only word popping into Steve’s mind. He touched, he bumped shoulders, he poked Steve’s side, he reached across Steve to snatch fries or, for some strange reason, broccoli off of Steve’s plate.

Now, he kept a very careful distance. He made sure not to brush his fingers against Steve’s shoulder, not to lean into Steve’s personal space when he tried to show him things on his phone, not to let his wings brush against Steve’s.

It was very frustrating, and Steve didn’t know what had happened that had changed Tony’s behavior.

***

Later that night, Steve stared up at the haze-filled sky, stars only just peeking through the massive amounts of light pollution. The lights were on in Tony’s workshop in the Tower, which was typical – but the wide doors that allowed Tony to enter or exit his workshop through flight were firmly closed, the shades or blinds or curtains pulled tightly shut.

 _That_ was new.

It didn’t matter, though, because Steve still needed to work off his restless energy, needed to feel the wind underneath his wings, lifting him up. Maybe a flight would help him put his head on straight.

It was late in the summer, approaching fall, and the winds up high had a bite that chilled him, reminded him too much of pale blue colors fuzzing out his vision, of ice floes hardening and immobilizing.

With a grunt, he arrowed down towards the ground, a sudden drop that had wind whipping past him, heading towards the stadium. At the very last second, he snapped out his wings, felt the pull and jerk of his muscles as his wings caught air, backwinged so he didn’t actually hit the ground full speed.

He landed on one bended knee, wings stretched out behind him, gasping and trembling and fighting back the dark memories that tried to drag him down.

After a few minutes, he tried to swallow, bring liquid into his dry mouth, and then he ran across the field, beating his wings to get lift. Slowly, he glided back towards the dorm.

For a moment, he could almost imagine he saw Tony’s face in the now-darkened windows of Tony’s workshop, staring at him, but when he paused, trying to catch a real glimpse and not just something out of the corner of his eye, it wasn’t there.

***

“Natasha, I just want to know what I can do,” he said, trying not to sound too pathetic. “Besides Jan, you’ve known him the longest. You’ve _been_ here the longest.”

Natasha jumped forward, her Widow’s Bites zapping out to drop the robot in front of her, and then she danced back into position. He was standing outside the dojo, hoping that it would be harder for her to duck out of this conversation since she had initiated a 30-minute session and couldn’t exactly open the doors until the computer program ran its course.

“I know you can hear me,” he added, just in case she was trying to pretend like she couldn’t. “You already responded to my greeting.”

Which was, honestly, technically true, since he had come up and said “Good morning, Natasha!” and she had said “Why am I surrounded by cheery morons?” but it meant she had heard him, so.

“Look, I’m not someone you ask about this,” she finally sighed. “Why don’t you just go and ask _him_.”

“He’s been avoiding me a lot. Or talking around my questions. He’s very frustrating.”

“That’s who he is,” Natasha sighed, and went through another complicated move to snag the robot’s head between her thighs and flip it over, delivering a knockout blow with delicate precision.

That didn’t help Steve at all, but she was at least talking, so he didn’t point that out. Instead, he tried, “Has he… talked to you? I know you attempt discourage him, but has he… tried to approach you? About this?”

“Has he come whining to me about how he lost his chance with you and how he’s an idiot?” she snarled, doing an axe kick and then a roundhouse punch. Whirling on her heel, she cut him with a searing glare. “No, not once.”

Steve opened his mouth, and then closed it. What would have given Tony the impression that they had… lost a chance, somewhere?

Well, that was easily fixable enough, of course. He just needed to speak to Tony, explain his thoughts and what he was aiming for.

***

You know, seriously, _fuck_ HYDRA and fuck Red Skull and _fuck Bucky was aLIVE—_

***

Steve didn’t even remember how he’d gotten onto the subject (it was probably embarrassingly easy – he still felt really, _really_ bad about the so-called ‘Civil War’ event, but Tony had created that god _damned patriotic-looking armor_ , so he figured they were even – and honestly, it was always easy to get him on the subject of Tony), but he had mentioned Tony and Bucky had said, very laconically and easily, “Oh, he’s not that bad a guy.”

Considering that Bucky was, for the lack of a better word (and borrowing _Jan’s_ word, since he wouldn’t have known it without her), emo, and always really down and depressed, in a way, Steve felt he could be forgiven for choking on the piece of carrot he’d been chewing on and hacking up a lung while Bucky swatted his back harder than he really needed to hit.

“You – you talk with Tony?” Steve asked when he finally got his wind back.

Bucky shrugged. “He’s a pretty sharp fella. Offered to look at my arm. Well.” He stopped, and a small grin twitched his face up into something Steve remembered far better than Bucky’s current normal, morose outlook. “He said something about making it _better_ , but I got the gist that he wanted to make sure I was okay with it.”

Steve looked down, trying not to do anything that would give away how much he _missed_ talking to Tony without their words devolving into insults and fights. “I’m glad you two are getting along well,” he finally said, awkwardly.

“He flies at night sometimes.” Bucky paused, and his crow-black wings – not as faded or as ratty as they had been when Bucky had first joined the Academy three weeks or so ago – mantled a little, flapped just enough to stir the air around their feet before folding them tight against his body. He dropped his head, letting his still-lanky and thin hair fall in front of his eyes, shielding him from Steve’s probing stare. “I like – he flies well.”

After a few moments, Steve looked away from Bucky, down at his own food. “He uses the repulsors on his hand and boot to stabilize his flight,” he offered.

“I noticed that,” Bucky agreed, nodding. “I thought it was strange. But he’s a strange guy. He is… not scared of me. But of something.”

Steve almost instinctively opened his mouth to defend Tony, and then closed his mouth. He didn’t really have a leg to stand on, and it wasn’t as if Tony would be appreciative of Steve’s words.

The awkward silence continued a while before Bucky cleared his throat. “Heartache and trials, the brain misfires, and my tongue sleeps tonight,” he murmured. “Further and further he drifts, and I no longer fit, and so he takes flight.”

Steve was slowly getting used to the fact that Bucky had difficulty speaking about emotions and feelings, and so would use a song lyric he had memorized or even written himself to try and discuss what he couldn’t quite say directly. Still, it was damned hard to decipher. Something about saying the wrong words? A misfire in the brain? Drifting away?

Before the silence could continue any longer in painful prolonging of Steve’s misunderstanding and Bucky’s dark expression, Sam walked up to Steve, feathers puffed up and nearly preening in happiness. “Guess _what_ , my ancient ones?” he crowed, gleeful and nearly vibrating – his wings certainly were quivering against his back.

“What, Sam?” Steve asked, smiling warmly up at the excited young man.

“Kamala agreed to go on a date with me! A study date, and there had to be people there so we’re not, you know, _alone_ together, but she’s totally going on a date with me!”

Steve felt a small, bittersweet twinge in his chest – he was happy Sam’s love life was working out, but his own wasn’t exactly something to look forward to or talk about – but he let his wings lift in happiness, a huge smile spreading over his face. “Sam, that’s amazing! I know you’d been wanting to ask her out for a while, man.”

“Yeah, I think my mark is for her, you know? It’s got some of that red, and a little lightning bolt bisecting it – I really think it might be her!”

There was a choking noise behind Steve, and Steve turned his head to see Tony standing behind him, eyes wide. When Tony realized that _Steve_ was looking, he turned tail and practically flew out of the cafeteria’s doors.

***

Bucky came out of the shower a week later, and Steve smiled. He was still – he still missed Tony, desperately, but Bucky’s soulmark was strong and vibrant against his skin again, and there at the hollow of Bucky’s throat was Steve’s mark. It had regained its full color again, and Bucky’s wings were thick and full and streaked with such deep black that it nearly looked like a steady luster of navy blue shining out from the edges of his feathers. Steve’s own wings were so much brighter than he even remembered, and he—

“Hey, Steve?” Bucky asked softly.

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve answered, fond and soft and his heart so full of happiness he could burst.

“What’s that mark on the nape of your neck?”

Steve frowned, and he reached up. “I dunno? Is it dirt or something?”

Bucky came over, the towel barely clinging to his hips, and threaded his metal fingers through the short hairs there, gently pushing them back. After a few minutes, he let out a soft huff that, if he hadn’t had HYDRA beat happiness out of him, would have been a laugh. As it was, it barely sounded like a sigh, but then he was coming back around to Steve’s front, lifting his metal arm and tapping his flesh finger against—

“It looks like that, Steve. And now I know what’s got the two of you down.”

A tiny, _ridiculously_ tiny, circle of white sat in a ring of gold and a ring of red, reminding Steve immediately of a chatterbox full of life and happiness and excitement. Throat dry, he threw his hand back up to his neck, his wings fluttering nervously with barely-suppressed hope. “It’s – the same?”

“When a rose pricks, again and again and again, a lesson sticks, and you give up that scent,” Bucky rumbled.

Steve didn’t really get it, but then again, he didn’t have to – his mind was whirling all on its own. If _he_ had a mark that represented Tony, and _Bucky_ had a mark that represented Tony…

Did Tony have a mark that represented the two of them?

Did Tony’s wings shine for them?

“I have to talk to him.”

Bucky coughed, stepping away from Steve and dropping the towel to pull on some boxers. “Gingerbread, burned and bitter, are impossible to pin.”

Steve was already planning to grab Tony the next time he saw him, and was trying to figure out what he wanted to say.

***

“Jan, can I… ask you something? About Tony?” Steve asked.

Because now – well, Tony had been avoiding him before, but now, Steve hadn’t seen Tony _once_ – not even through the windows of the Tower, not at the Forge, not at the blasting range, not at Club A, not at the Archives, _nowhere_.

Jan looked up from her phone briefly before looking back down. “Sure, why not, shoot! I am a regular _fountain_ of information this week.”

Steve decided it was far more important to ask his question than try to decipher what she meant, so he cleared his throat and said tentatively, “Is Tony… okay? Did something happen? I had thought we… we were getting over the Civil War thing. That we were back on… okay ground? I thought?”

With a sigh, Jan rolled her eyes and looked up at him. “Tony forgives pretty easily, all in all, which is good because he was really genuinely upset over that. But I’m pretty sure you’re forgiven. I am, at least. Which is the most important thing.”

“I haven’t seen him… at all.”

She heaved a bigger, louder sigh and stood up from the bench she’d been sitting on. “Look, Captain, you need to understand – Tony berates himself all the time for making bad decisions – and he makes them a lot. He apparently made a bad decision about you, and now he’s regretting something he did. I don’t know what, because he’s pretty closemouthed about his mistakes, but I’d just let him work it out himself. He’ll hang out with Brian, or Peter, or the _other_ Peter, or Natasha, and they’ll give him the kick in his pants that he needs to stop sitting in his birdbath staring sulkily up at the sky, eating cheese and bemoaning his actions.”

“Thanks, Jan,” Steve said quickly.

“For what?” she asked, but he was already pelting across the campus, determined to fly up to the jacuzzi all on his own.

Halfway there, he ran into Bucky – literally. Bucky went down, hard, and came up swinging – but Steve had already jumped back, his powerful wings spread to lift him a little up off the ground.

“What the hell, Stevie?” Bucky groused.

“I think Tony’s in his hot tub, and I want to ask him if he wants to – wants the both of us. If he has the both of us marked on his skin,” Steve spilled out, words tumbling into each other as he shifted nervously from the air to the ground. “If you – if this is okay with you? Having him? With us?”

Bucky was looking at the ground like normal, but after a heartbeat where Steve was terrified he’d lose Bucky to gain Tony, Bucky lifted his head and a reluctantly, almost gentle smile, was tugging the corner of his mouth up. “I think that’d be swell, Steve. So your plan is to… surprise him while he’s in a bathing suit?”

Cheeks coloring, Steve folded his arms, wings fluffed up defensively. “You have a better plan?”

Bucky shrugged and clapped Steve on the shoulder. “I’ll come just to see the show.”

***

Of course, Tony _wasn’t_ in the birdbath when Steve and Bucky coasted up to the top of the Tower. The covering was over the tub, and Steve and Bucky wheeled about before dropping to the doorway that led to the tub.

“JARVIS?” Bucky said, before Steve could throw a fit or get bummed out that his brilliant idea hadn’t worked the way he’d wanted it to.

“Yes, Master Barnes?” the AI’s mechanical voice sounded.

“Can we wait for Tony up here? We want to ask him a question.”

There was a pause, and after a few minutes that seemed like _hours_ , JARVIS said – clearly reluctant – “There is nothing in my programming preventing me from taking that course of action.”

“We want to ask him to be our fella,” Steve blurted out. “We want – I miss him, JARVIS. A lot. And I know – I guessed he stopped talking to Bucky, and he’s stopped talking to me for a long time, but I, I really miss him. I want to try and make this right.”

There was another, terrifyingly long silence, and then the metal dome retracted just enough for the two of them to enter. The tub itself was lit, soft underwater lights muting the harsh edges of Bucky’s face, melting the rough edges of Steve’s fear.

Clearing his throat, Steve made a half-aborted gesture towards the water. “Let’s… get in?”

Bucky snickered, and Steve smiled helplessly at Bucky’s mirth. “Not smooth at all, are ya?” Bucky teased, stripping down – oh, lord, in nothing but his birthday suit – and then sliding into the water, his black wings spreading out to float on top of the water.

Steve was a lot more reserved than that, and neat, too – he took his time, folding his clothes carefully, and he definitely kept his boxers on as he stepped into the sinfully warm water. “Oh, god, Buck, I’ll fall asleep in this water.”

With a snort, Bucky waited until Steve was fully in the tub before sending a wave of water over Steve’s face, drenching him. Surprised, Steve inhaled at the wrong point and began coughing and sputtering.

That was how Tony found them – Steve holding Bucky under the water as Bucky tickled him mercilessly. Steve was howling with laughter, wiggling too much to really be holding Bucky under with any real strength, and when the roof retracted they froze like that.

Tony, bare-chested (except for his arc reactor), stood just as statue-still as they were, his wings fluffed out in surprise, spread wide.

Then panic shot across his face, and Steve scrambled up and bared the back of his neck.

“Tony – Tony, I’ve missed talking to you,” he said quickly. “Bucky misses talking to you. We – you’re an amazing person. And we think – I think you might be our soulmate. Our marks – show him your mark, Buck.”

There was a swishing noise, and then Bucky was standing closer to Tony, lifting his metal arm up and touching just the edge of it with the tip of his finger. “Our hearts beat as one in this dismal grey, improving our breaths and our life, day by day.”

Tony let out a choked laugh, and when Steve tilted his head up to look Tony in the eye, Tony had tears dripping down his face. He reached out a trembling hand, and Steve watched his non-repulsor-covered hand brush against the mark on Bucky’s skin.

Bucky let out a gasp, jerking in surprise, and then a soft moan. Before Steve could beg shamelessly for Tony to touch him as well, Tony was reaching out, scraping his finger against the back of Steve’s neck.

Heat and warmth washed over Steve, spreading through his lower body and chubbing his dick. He groaned, deep in his throat, and twisted his head to press a kiss against the inside of Tony’s arm.

Tony laughed wetly and scrubbed his face on the forearm of his repulsor-covered hand. “I thought – damn. I thought you were, you’d found a soulmate with, with Sam. And then when Sam said his soulmate was Kamala, I realized I’d wasted _so much time_ , but you were with Bucky then and I – you guys are serious? You meant this?”

“Our hearts pound out blood to stain the ground, should this commitment become unwound,” Bucky said gravely.

“What he said,” Steve said, giddy and excited and practically dancing in place.

After a few moments, Tony let go of Steve’s neck and took a step back – he was in the water, a bit shorter than the two of them but not by much, and he hooked a finger in the waistband of his swim shorts. There, on his hipbones, were Steve and Bucky’s marks, prominent and dark. “I guess I’m yours, then.”

“And it only took hiding in your birdbath to find out,” Steve sighed in relief, reaching out to touch the mark that was his on Tony’s skin, just as Bucky reached out to touch Tony’s.

Tony groaned, eyes fluttering shut, swaying a little and wings drooping in pleasure. Then his eyes snapped open and he shoved a finger into Steve’s chest. “What the _hell_ did you just call my jacuzzi?” he demanded.

Steve couldn’t help it; he started laughing, shaking his head.

“What the hell, Steve?! This is a state of the art jacuzzi and it helps with my wing muscles! It’s not some – _Loki_. Or no – it was fucking Sam, wasn’t it? You speak to Sam more than Loki. See if Sam ever gets another upgrade from _me_!”

Bucky began chuckling as well.

“Et tu, Brute?!”


End file.
